


old wounds

by seroquel (smallredboy)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Referenced racism, good parenting, largely a spitefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-21 01:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/seroquel
Summary: Alexander gets in a fight at school, and he knows his new foster father can't be happy about it.





	old wounds

**Author's Note:**

> yall out here.... writing corporal punishment as a positive thing.... and im not having it!! im not having it!
> 
> also for hcbingo with the "begging" square.
> 
> enjoy!

Alexander could barely breathe as he got out of school.

His head swims as he gets into his classmate Aaron’s car, the only one of his classmates (and a kind of friend) who had a car. Perhaps because he was the only sixteen year old in the class. He’s been kind enough to drive him to the Washingtons’ place, as he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to go in their car yet. 

“Are you alright, Alexander?” Aaron asks him, looking at him through the windshield mirror.

“I fucked up,” he breathes out, and it comes out a little wheezy. “I— I got in trouble. The principal probably called the Washingtons.”

Aaron’s eyes immediately widen. “Oh God,” he whispers, his heart in his throat, looking like he pities Alexander. It almost makes him furious, to be pitied, but he eats the anger up, as he’s too busy being terrified to be angry. 

“I’m so sorry, dude,” he tells him. 

Alexander has seen his scars on his back when they’re in gym. He knows what this is like, the fear of a new foster home, of new foster parents which will be either immensely worse than the last ones or somehow just a little better. The Washingtons are almost likeable— he can almost get used to being around them. But he knows not to let his guard down.

One of the first things you learn when you’re a foster kid is to never let your guard down.

“Thanks,” he tells Aaron. “How are your curren foster parents? Maybe I could get them to foster me if they’re okay.”

“They’re a lot better,” Aaron confides, “they haven’t… done that. Yet.”

“Not even an open-hand one?”

Aaron smiles a little. “Not even an open-hand one. It’s incredible, I know. I don’t know if they’d be up for a third foster kid but I can always talk to them about it.”

Alexander sighs in relief. At least he has a little comfort if what he knows will happen happens. At least he will have somewhere to go to once he breaks down and calls social services. As much as his past foster parents have tried to hit the self-preservation, the desire for a better life out of him, they haven’t quite managed to yet. Which is why he still calls when he feels terrible, which is why they always find out and curse him out for not being the perfectly quiet abused foster son they always wanted.

“Thank you so much, Aaron,” he tells him as he parks next to the Washingtons’ place. He opens the door and slides right out of the car. “See you tomorrow, hopefully.”

Aaron nods at him. “Good luck, see you tomorrow, Alexander.”

Alexander draws in a breath and nods, stepping towards their house and opening the door. He looks around, almost waiting for an ambush, for Mr. Washington to pick him off the ground and take him to his office without much of a word.

It wasn’t even that bad of a thing, really. But it was the first time the principal called to his new foster parents for some ruckus he caused. It’s simply that he got in a fight with the annoying white kid in the Chemistry lab. That was all it was, but it’s enough for anyone, and it’s enough for Washington to punish him. He knows it would’ve been more than enough for his past foster parents.

“Hello? Mr. Washington?” he calls out as he closes the door— then he sees him. He’s in the liviing room, hands folded over his lap, looking more stern than ever. His breathing catches in his throat and then he hears Ms. Washington cooking in the kitchen and he nearly throws up right there and then, his head spinning.

“Alexander,” Washington greets him seriously before waving at the seat in front of him. “Let’s talk about what happened at school.”

He can’t take it. He dissolves into quiet sobs, his facade breaking forcefully, Washington pulling it off his face and throwing it to the heater. “Please don’t, please don’t—” he cries, “please don’t hurt me, please don’t spank me, please, please, I’ll take anything, I’ll sleep outside even if it rains, I won’t have dinner, please just don’t— please don’t hit me…”

He can barely see among his tears, but he can see how Washington’s face softens, how he stands up, and fear strikes him. Will he slap him, will he slap him, will he—?”

“Alexander,” he says. “I won’t hurt you. I just wanted to talk to you about what you did and do something to ensure it won’t ever happen again. And it wouldn’t include physical or emotional harm, not on purpose, Alexander.”

His heartbeat attempts to slow down, but his head still is about to explode, he’s still gasping for air, his lungs still are on fire. “Please don’t hurt me,” he whimpers out, voice raw. “Please don’t hurt me, please don’t, please don’t, please… please don’t.”

He knows that he’ll be deeply embarassed by his panic attack once he regains his composure. Once he’s succesfully come back to normal. But right now all of that doesn’t matter. All that matters is for him to not get more bruises, more welts on his back or on his thighs or on his sides. Anywhere, anywhere, he can’t have it happen again.

He wheezes and he cries, dampening his shirt as he slowly calms down. His lungs cool down, his lungs start taking in air again.

Washington hasn’t even laid a finger on him to calm him down, he realizes. He’s just watched him, said soothing words.

“You can go to your bedroom if that would help you calm down, Alexander,” he tells him gently. “I will be here, and again, I won’t do anything to you that will cause you bodily harm. You can check all over the house if you want— there are no implements for corporal punishment anywhere.”

Alexander draws in a shaky breath, almost inclined to keep begging. “Thank you,” he says quietly before heading to his room, making sure to close the door as he winds down.

_ (4:21 pm) aaron. he didn’t . he didn’t do anything. i had a panic attack im still sort of recovering from and he let me go to my room to wind down? ? i almost feel like its a trap _

_ (4:22 pm) oh thank God he’s alright and that YOU are alright. i hope it’s not a trap. relax and wind down, alexander. _

_ (4:22 pm) i will. _

He tries to relax, looking through books and through various social media feeds until he’s no longer hyperventilating. He bites his lip and notices just how much he sweat during his panic attack, his clothes sticking to his skin. He sighs and decides to keep a shower for when he’s sure Washington isn’t willing and ready to beat him.

He steps outside of his room and finishes wiping his tears away before going to the living room. Ms. Washington is still in the kitchen, and he’s almost sure it’s out of courtesy and not because she’s cooking. He doesn’t look at Mr. Washington before sitting down on the couch in front of him.

Washington clears his throat. “I know reassurances won’t do anything to help you feel safer here, so I will just try and talk to you about the problem and offer solutions.”

“Okay,” Alexander says, only a string of his voice left, staring intently at his own hands.

“So, what caused you to fight Mr. Seabury?”

He swallows. “He was— just being annoying. He, um, kept asking me if I was Mexican and bothering Eliza and I just.. was s-sick of him. I’m sorry, please don’t…”

“Shh,” Washington says gently. “So, he was being racist and you went towards violence?”

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have—”

“Just don’t do it again,” he tells him. “I understand what it’s like, especially because I sent you to a white-majority school. It’s rough.”

Alexander blinks and that’s when his head snaps up. “What?”

Washington looks at him with a small smile. “I understand, Alexander. I was in your position when I was your age. The difference was that when I lashed out my parents didn’t want to go the non-corporal punishment way.”

Alexander’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he says softly.

“I’m not too mad at you. I was— I was mad at you, because the principal failed to mention that Mr. Seabury had sought it out.”

“Well, the principal’s white, so.”

Washington laughs a little. “Yes. So I will just take away that, uh, console you keep that you like so much. A Nintendo?”

He can’t help but smile. “Nintendo 3DS, Mr. Washington.”

“That,” he says. “For two weeks. That’s your punishment.”

“That’s all?”

Washington nods. “That’s all.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Okay,” he says, looking down at the floor once again, not knowing what to do with himself. Washington didn’t do what he thought he’d do. He didn’t do it by far, by any stretch of the word, of the concept.

“One more thing.”

He looks up. “Yes?”

Washington looks away a little. “Can I hug you?”

An unknown warmth seeps right into him, and Alexander can’t help but smile. “Yes, you can, Mr. Washington.”

Washington stands up and he does too— Washington immediately wraps his arms around him and hugs him tight. He hugs back as tight as he can, clinging into his new foster father with a very new sensation— being comfortable.

* * *

“So, do I need to kick Washington in the dick?” Aaron asks as he goes to pick him up the next day.

Alexander smiles at him and shakes his head. “Not at all, no. I might be picked up by him in a few, actually.”

Aaron grins at him through the windshield mirror. “I’m glad to hear that, Alexander.”

“Me too, dude. Me too.”

They drive in comfortable silence, Alexander already getting ready for Ms. Washington’s lunch and Mr. Washington trying to keep up with pop culture. 

This new home isn’t bad, after all.


End file.
